


Of Dusters and Wardens

by Terion



Category: Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: F/M, Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-10-07
Updated: 2013-10-07
Packaged: 2017-12-28 16:23:32
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 13,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/994035
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Terion/pseuds/Terion
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drabbles surrounding the lives of Carina Brosca and Alistair as they struggle through the events of the Dragon Age.</p><p>(parts of this story are being reworked)</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Seeing Beneath Your Masks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carina has never been one to share her checkered past lightly except with him, so Alistair is rather distracted when they head to Orzammar to settle the old Warden treaty with the dwarves.
> 
> Rewritten as of 6/10/14.

After they passed through the gates of Orzammar, Alistair's eyes strayed from her so little that he almost tripped over his own feet several times. He caught Wynne smiling at him every so oftem - though he was a little wary to call it _grandmotherly_ anymore thanks to tidbits he'd learned about the older woman - and Zevran had ramped up his suggestions of how he could _improve_ himself for her. Both attitudes made him want to scream but he held his temper as well as his tongue in check purely for her sake.

 

Everyone they traveled with knew she was casteless - that was blindingly obvious thanks to the grand that covered her right cheek and eye. What she had never said out loud to the others was that she had been a member of the Carta since she could hold a blade, scraping out the meager shell of a life in Dust Town by steel and blood. She had been the elder sister, the one responsible for her family since her father had disappeared for the surface when she and her sister were young, and she had taken the idea to heart. Her body bore too many old wounds to count (and Alistair had tried once), remnants of street battles won and lost, but she could recall every scar she'd taken for her sister. In her own words, she had described herself as a ruthless animal and shakily admitted she didn't want to become that again.

 

Now they were walking back into the place that had  _made her_ become that and he was terrified that he might lose her. That was why he watched her so closely and tried to stay at her side to the best of his ability. There was no comfort he could give to reassure her and she'd already stated that she wouldn't accept any until the stones of the city were at their back.

 

_I must be steel and stone to face this_ , had been her shaky words, muttered between the last kisses they'd shared before setting out from their camp.  _Please understand._

 

He had understood all too well since he'd come to discover lately that the main thing they shared was that neither of them growing up had ever been allowed to be themselves. The reality of facing Orzammar at her side, however, was harder than he'd expected.

 

When she had flinched just that _slightest_ barely noticeable inch when on dwarf refused to look past the brand on her face, he had warred between the need to wrap her in his arms and run the idiot through. _It's fine_ , had been her quiet words after and he had done nothing more than touch her cheek, knowing his face told her that it wasn't.

 

As Bhelen's man Vartag confirmed the papers they'd been given were forgeries, he'd watched her entire demeanor grow cold with the realization that the politics of the noble caste were just as twisted as those she had dealt with in the Carta.

 

Then there was the rage that he saw revealed only in the subtle shift of her hips when they learned how likely it was that the Prince had orchestrated the murder and exile of his elder brothers that had led to the death of their father. Zevran had given him a lecherous smile when he'd caught him watching but Alistair had only felt sick to his core. She had been happy that to find that her sister had caught the Prince and gotten out of Dust Town but now she could only see the blood on Bhelen's hands. Her entire life had been spent shedding blood so her younger sister wouldn't have to and Rica had ended up with a man who had willingly orchestrated the deaths of his own family.

 

He had nearly dragged her bodily out of the city when they had gone after the Carta and she had discovered the betrayal of her oldest friend. The cold, detatched look upon her face as she had stared down at his corpse wasn't  _her_ , not the rough-tongued yet bright and kind woman he had fallen in love with. It belonged to the woman she feared turning back into but all he could do was touch her shoulder to get her attention and steer her away. If he had done anything else, she could have crumbled.

 

When they entered the Deep Roads, Alistair had to war with his need to keep his eyes on her. Focusing on the darkspawn was far harder than it should have been, his worry was so great to her, and it took him three days of travel through those ancient tunnels before he was able to focus the impotent rage he felt at being unable to help her towards the monsters.

 

As they came across Hespith and learned what become of Branka and her House, he almost thought she was going to break. When she'd explained the idea of Houses to him, she'd related it as family and family was _everything_ , so to see it tossed away like a collection of broken toys was a hammerblow. She had held it together, however, and had been the one to deliver the final mercy blow to not only the broodmother but the twisted Paragon herself. Alistair saw her hands shake, though, after she dropped the hammer that destroyed the Anvil of the Void and knew that she was coming to the end.

 

When Bhelen ordered Harrowmont executed and she bellowed that she had not thrown in her vote with him so he could become a tyrant, he felt his own world crumbling with hers. He ignored Zevran and Wynne's curious looks as he stepped up next to her, resting on hand lightly on her shoulder, and leaned down to breath in her ear over the roar of the Assembly a handful of words.

 

_Let's go._

 

After a short goodbye to her sister and a promise that the old treaty would be held to, neither of them could seem to move fast enough to get out of the city. Their entire party was quiet on the walk back - even Zevran - and no one in camp spoke up as she entered like a dark thunderstorm. He followed on her heels into their tent, knowing what was about to come.

 

She held onto the remnants of her mask of steel and stone as they stripped out of their armor but by the time the last of his plate and her leather was set aside, it slipped hard before falling utterly. He imagined that he could hear it clattering to the ground, shattering into pieces, and he was all too glad to see it gone. As tears welled up in her green eyes, Alistair knelt down and drew her to him, finally able to wrap his arms around her as he had yeared to throughout their weeks in Orzammar. She buried her face in his shoulder as the first sob came and every one after felt like it broke his heart anew.

 

After, she touched his face with rough, dirty fingers and he turned his head so he could press a kiss against her palm. And as she tried to breathe out an apology, he stopped her words by pressing his fingers against her lips. She shook her head in the negative before asking, "How did you know?"

 

Alistair just smiled and moved his hand to twine his fingers amongst her red hair.

 

"You know how," he answered softly. "You're the one that taught me how to see beneath your masks."


	2. Finding a Connection

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The aftermath to Morrigan's ritual has been seen...but what happened between the witch and Alistair has not.

He was _furious_. No, furious didn’t quite cover the storm of emotions raging through his chest right now. And he wasn’t even sure _who_ he was angry at.

 

Was it Riordan for waiting so long to tell them how an Archdemon had to die? Morrigan for bringing up her ritual? Flemeth for coming up with the whole mad scheme in the first place? Carina for wanting nothing more than for both of them to survive?

 

Or was his rage for further back, for Eamon and how he’d shoved away the boy his King had entrusted to him? For Isolde and her bitter dislike of him, her distrust that he wasn’t her husband’s?

 

Was it all of them?

 

Was it anger at _himself_ for even dreaming of agreeing to Carina – Morrigan – _Flemeth’s_ plot?

 

Alistair snarled, the noise low and harsh, and leaned against the wall halfway between his room and Carina’s. He knew Morrigan was waiting and wondered if too long a time would make the mage give up her plan. No, no, he chided himself, she and Carina were too close for that, even he knew.

 

She would wait. Because the witch he still disliked loved her in her own way.

 

_Maker’s mercy, must I really do this?_

 

He closed his eyes and slowly slumped into the embrace of the age worn stones, remembering only moments ago when Carina had come into his room. That someone was wrong had been evident but he hadn’t expected what she’d _said_. Hadn’t expected her to ask him to lie in bed with Morrigan, to do what he did with _her_ with _Morrigan_ , and bring an Old God back into the world. If it had been him in her place, he didn’t think he could have borne through the asking, not to someone he loved.

 

Heaving a sigh, Alistair lifted his hands to press the heels hard against his eyes, trying to figure out some way out of this. He’d agreed, oh yes, because he didn’t want to die, didn’t want Rina to die, but he didn’t want to do _this._ Part of him wanted to scream that Riordan would take the final blow, that they wouldn’t have to worry about it…but that was the boy of over a year ago. The dreaming boy who hadn’t been all that different from his half-brother despite their all too different upbringings..

 

What did that make him now?

 

 _Grey Warden and nothing more_ was the first thought but then that brought up _Senior Warden_. _Technical Warden-Commander_ _of Ferelden_ because he had six months on Rina but he’d never wanted the position. Not after a childhood spent hearing that he could have no thoughts of designs on the throne, no flickering of command over anything.

 

After what Rina had orchestrated this past year, the First Warden was likely to officially name her to the position of Commander if they survived. He’d _run_ from the duty that should have been his but no matter how much he’d wanted to, how much the shade of Duncan lurking in his mind might have expected him to, there were far stronger shadows in his mind that had kept him from it.

 

Maric, who’d abandoned him.

 

Cailan, who’d never given him a second glance.

 

Isolde, who’d called him a _dog_ in Orlesian behind Eamon’s back (and he _knew_ she had because one of the stable boy’s had taught him the language to spite her).

 

Eamon, who’d allowed his wife’s blindness to stain him and driven a boy first to the stables and then into the arms of the Chantry.

 

A handful, dozen, thousand more who’d taunted him for being _bastard_ , who’d told him he’d amount to nothing, who’d filled his head with the idea that he would never be anything worthwhile.

 

Only Duncan and Rina had ever really believed in him and one of them was dead. And the other had asked him to do something that went against almost everything he believed in.

 

Alistair opened his eyes then and straightened from the wall, steeling himself as he moved towards the door Morrigan waited beyond as a thought struck him.

 

He had proven them all wrong, hadn’t he? He’d become a _Grey Warden_ , had survived Ostagar when so many others had died, had helped garner the aid of the dwarves and Dalish and mages, had fought darkspawn after darkspawn and won, had found a place to _be_ and to _belong_ with someone who loved him and who he loved in return.

 

The boy in the stables had been left in the hay loft of Redcliffe.

 

The templar initiate had been left in the dust of the tourney field where Duncan had recruited him.

 

The young Grey Warden had been left at the top of the Tower of Ishal with darkspawn arrows lining his side, his King and half-brother, his Commander dead below him on the field.

 

The would-be boy King had been left standing lost after the Landsmeet had ended.

 

Who did that leave?

 

That left _Alistair_ , free to choose what he wanted to do, who he wanted to be with, a life utterly open underneath his feet with all the choices ready to grasp. It left only a man of the Wardens wanting to stop the Blight. Left a man wanting to protect what he loved most and willing to do anything to save it.

 

 _Wardens do as they must_. He remembered Duncan saying something like that once. And maybe it was selfish, maybe it was _wrong_ and a sin in the Maker’s sight, a disappointment to the man who’d been more a father to him in six months than anyone had ever been before but he _would_ do Morrigan’s ritual. Rina had helped free him and by everything sacred and holy he wasn’t about to throw away the only thing that could save them both.

 

Maybe it would damn his soul, maybe not.

 

But if he was to lose Rina one day to both the Calling and to her soul going to the Stone, well, Alistair would rather be dragged into the Black City grinning for a sin that saved his love just that bit longer now than mourn at the Maker's side without her forever and knowing he hadn’t _tried_.

 

He pushed open the door then and Morrigan turned, her golden eyes sad and having none of their normal sharpness in them that was usually directed towards him. “I did not think she had convinced you,” said the witch. “Twould have been a disappointment for her skills of persuasion.”

 

“I had to persuade myself more than she did,” answered Alistair as he closed the door then bolted it. He then looked at her and asked, “Can I ask one question, Morrigan?”

 

She released a heavy sigh that was all annoyance then nodded.

 

“This child…you aren’t planning on using it to come after the throne, are you?” As the witch bristled with outrage, he lifted his hands. “I may never have wanted the crown but it’s still my blood that many believe should be on it.”

 

Morrigan pursed her lips for a moment then said, “You truly would believe my word on this?”

 

“Rina loves you like a sister and I know she didn’t ask me to do this lightly. So, yes, for her, I’ll believe you.”

 

“Yes. Tis little someone such as me could do with a throne.”

 

“Rule a nation?” questioned Alistair, thinking of all the things he knew you _could_ do with a crown. All the things Loghain had done came to mind right off.

 

The witch cocked her head to the side like a bird. “And have to deal with being tied down to a dredgeful of meaningless drivel from Arls and Banns? Tis not the sort of power I seek, Alistair.” Then she smiled – a real _, honest_ smile – and said, “Tis not the sort of power any of our company seeks.”

 

Her words rang with a truth that Alistair couldn’t deny.

 

He then sighed and jerked his tunic and shirt off, letting them drop to the floor as he looked expectantly at Morrigan. “Well,” he said roughly, “let’s get this over with.” As he started in on the laces of his trousers, trying not to look at her, her hand touched his and drew his attention to her.

 

“Alistair,” she intoned softly, honest kindness showing uneasily through her face, “I could make this easier for you, as a gift to her. Let you see me as her.”

 

For a wild moment he thought about taking the offer then he shook it off. Alistair turned his hand over to grasp hers, calloused fingers exploring a hand that was smoother and larger in some ways, smaller in others than the ones he’d grown used to holding. Part of him wanted to shout at her for even offering but another appreciated the gesture. That she cared enough about Rina to try and offer _him_ what comfort that she could said more about the witch than anything else ever had.

 

Lifting her hand in his, Alistair pressed his lips against Morrigan’s fingers and did. Not. Shudder. The thought that they were both doing this for Rina comforted him and allowed his mind to finally settle.

 

“That would be a disservice to her,” he said just as softly as she’d voiced her offer. “But thank you.”

 

She inclined her head slightly then freed her hand, moving towards the bed as she began to strip and talk at the same time. “I shall give you warning now that the magic involved in this ritual will consume us body and soul. Submission to it is part of what is required to create the proper bond so do _not_ fight it.” Her golden eyes locked with his as she turned half towards him and sternly stated, “Using your templar abilities could destroy any hope of it working.”

 

“Noted. So…how do we start?”

 

Morrigan chuckled as she flung the last of her clothes to the side and then turned to face him. Even a blind man would call the witch of the Wilds beautiful but Alistair preferred a difference sort of beauty. Oh, he could _appreciate_ hers and Leliana’s but…there was something in Rina that just called to him as surely as the Archdemon called to the darkspawn.

 

“First,” she said with a wry smile, “you shall need to be without _those_.”

 

Instantly he remembered his trousers and flushed before finishing undressing, dropping them and his smalls onto his other clothes. Then he stood nervously in front of Morrigan and fought against the urge to cover up his indecency with his hands. Her cat-with-the-cream smile as her eyes roved up and down him didn’t help his battle either. Nor did the sly comment: “I see what she appreciates in you.”

 

Then she was crooking a finger at him and he moved woodenly forward, following her instruction to lie down on the bed awkwardly. Alistair’s eyes then went wide as she climbed onto the bed and crawled upward to kneel next to him as she leaned over to pick up a potion bottle from the bedside table. “I take it we drink that,” he said, a high pitched squeak in his voice.

 

Morrigan just smiled down at him and nodded before she downed half the potion. Then she extended the bottle to him and said, “Quickly. I do not think you wish to experience the potion taking its effect upon me without it in you.”

 

He took her at her word and downed the potion, grimacing at the bitter taste. Then, as Alistair sat up slightly to set it on the table, she moved to straddle his waist with a sorrowful smile that was mixed with amusement as he blushed even darker.

 

Just as he was about to ask if the potion had worked, magic snapped together around them so swiftly that even his long trained templar senses barely caught it and his words dissolved as raw, feral need hit them both like a punch to the gut. Alistair remembered his hands reaching up to drag Morrigan down, his mouth claiming hers as her hips rolled over his, then everything else was blessedly lost within a sea of black.

 

When he woke later in a tangle of pale, slim limbs, Alistair groaned and rolled away until he found the edge of the bed. As his feet found the floor, he registered movement behind him and then Morrigan’s hand touched his bare back. To his credit, he didn’t flinch despite the shame lurking inside, and he felt the cool touch of a healing spell roll over him. It brushed aside the headache he hadn’t even realized was forming and made him feel refreshed instead of to the point of exhaustion.

 

“Twould be a good idea to eat,” said Morrigan as she rose and paced across the room, brazenly naked in the firelight as she went for her clothes. “Magic pulls from its recipient as well as its caster, as you should recall well from the old woman’s preachings.”

 

“And a bath,” grumbled Alistair as he rose and moved towards his own clothes. As he pulled his trousers back on without bothering to lace them as he’d soon take them off again, he asked, “Did it work?”

 

“Tis a working I can barely sense.”

 

“So yes so far as you know.”

 

“Yes, Alistair.”

 

He nodded at that then picked up his shirt and tunic, nose wrinkling as the scent of their coupling wafted around him suddenly. Then he turned, saw she still bore the same mournful look as she wrapped her arms around her belly, and forced a smile. “Thank you, Morrigan.”

 

The witch’s head jerked up at that, golden eyes wide, and she breathed, “You would thank me for this…what is the common word…infidelity?”

 

Alistair flinched at the word, at the reminder that an act similar to what they had just done had created _him_ , and he’d sworn once to never help spawn a bastard child. That was before Rina though, before the Blight, before Morrigan looked at him like a lost child.

 

“I would thank you for trying to save someone you care about,” he answered. “And someone that you don’t. Good night, Morrigan.”

 

With that he turned and left, leaving the witch behind but not before her final words drifted to his ears.

 

“For her I will care for you, Alistair. Tis my hope you shall do the same.”


	3. Together At Fault

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After sending Alistair to Morrigan for the ritual, Carina is left to think over what she's done to the man she loves. What happens when he comes back to her isn't quite the reaction she expected.

Carina choked on another sob as she buried her face in Salroka’s fur, one arm wrapped as tightly around the big mabari as she could. Her ever loyal hound whined and lathed his broad tongue across her face as if telling her that it would be alright, that he was there for her. The feel of something brushing across the brand on her face, however, made her think of Alistair, of his habit of running his fingers over it whenever they were in private and fresh tears welled in her eyes.

 

She was a _terrible_ excuse for a Grey Warden and selfish; far more selfish than any Warden had a right to be.

 

There was a reason the motto included the word _sacrifice_.

 

And she was too Stone-damned _duster_ for her own good. That left her at where she was: lying in Alistair’s bed with her dog, waiting for him to come back from the fate she’d sent him to. He hadn’t wanted to go, had _begged_ her not to make him do it but she had talked him into it. She was _selfish_ and wanted so much to keep him.

 

By all her dust-choked ancestors, she didn’t want to chance losing him after she’d just wrenched him out of Eamon’s grasp. Even if it meant he had to lie with another woman, had to help give life to a child he’d never see, had to bring a untainted Old God back into the world. She wanted _him_ and by the human’s flaming prophetess she would risk dooming the world to do so.

 

Closing her eyes tightly, Carina clung to her hound and wished she was stronger than she was. Then her eyes flew open at the sound of the door opening and she wanted to turn, wanted to _see_ him, wanted to _touch_ him and know everything was alright but…she couldn’t. Not when she’d sent him to _that_.

 

Salroka whined and she looked up as a broad hand came down to rub at the hound’s ears. The mabari made a contented noise then wriggled out of her grasp and off the bed, moving to sprawl near the fire with a huff that was seemed akin to him saying _stop being silly, he forgives you_. She stretched out her arm, wanting his warmth back as well as the shield his large body provided but the mabari was having none of it.

 

Instead a different body slumped into his place and she closed her eyes as she inhaled the scent of freshly clean male. Then that same broad hand closed calloused fingers over her chin and Alistair softly said, “Please look at me. _Rina_ , love, please. _Please_.”

 

So much of her wanted to fight the urge to open her eyes but Carina didn’t. Her eyelashes fluttered and then he tilted her chin back so she could see his face, his reddish-blond hair still standing in wild half-dried spikes from his bath. His dark eyes bored into her, feeling like they were burning to her very core, and she squirmed closer to get away from them, trying to tuck her head underneath his chin and just _forget_.

 

Alistair wasn’t having any of that, however. Oh yes, he pulled her close, securing her smaller body against his but he didn’t let her hide. Instead he dragged her upwards to where she _had_ to look at him and held her tightly. Then his hand moved from her chin, fingertips brushing over the blue shapes that made up her brand and she very nearly started sobbing again.

 

After what she’d just made him do, she couldn’t fathom why he wanted to touch her.

 

“Why are you here?” she asked, tears trying to choke her voice but failing at the moment.

 

“Well this _is_ my room.” Alistair then leaned forward, pressing his lips against her forehead in a soft kiss. Then he breathed, “And because I want to be here. With you.”

 

Carina shuddered at that. “Why? Why after what I just had you do?”

 

“Rina – “

 

“ _I made you have sex with Morrigan!_ ”

 

She could feel him flinch violently and his arm tightened around her as he grumbled, “Thank you. Now the whole castle knows what happened and I was so hoping not to have Eamon glaring at me for any _more_ reasons.” That made a choked laughed tumble out of her and Alistair stroked his hand up and down her back in a reassuring gesture. Then he leaned his forehead against hers, eyes drifting shut as he let out a ragged breath. “I don’t want either of us to die, Rina. Maybe it wasn’t my first choice for how to but it’s done.”

 

“What if Morrigan was lying?” asked Carina even though she knew the witch wasn’t. She’d become close to all of their companions while they were traveling and considered them all her brothers and sisters. It would hurt to lose them to whatever fate would befall them after this battle but…losing Alistair would have hurt more.

 

“I may not like her but I’ve seen how you two interact. You’re like _sisters_ , Rina, and I don’t think she would hurt you like that. Not after all we’ve been through together.”

 

His words were a soothing balm on the worried snarl that was her mind – not enough to drive all of it away but enough to lessen it. That he was able to recognize that, was able to _admit_ it despite everything showed how much he’d grown in the past year. He’d been a boy on an adventure when they’d met and then had become the boy running from a birthright he’d never wanted. Somewhere between there he’d gained his feet and grown by leaps and spans…yet was never able to _show_ it because of the weight of the crown looming over his head. Now she had freed him of that burden, given him the chance to finally – _finally –_ chose where to go for himself and he was truly stepping into the shoes of the man that had always been hiding behind the boy.

 

Sighing into his skin, Carina nodded. “I know,” she whispered, limbs finally unfreezing so she could trace nonsense patterns across his chest. He squirmed at a ticklish spot as she ran her fingers across one broad muscle then growled as she tangled her fingers in the sparse reddish hair there. Then she pressed her palms against his chest and asked, “Do you forgive me?”

 

Alistair’s eyes opened then and he seemed to drink in the sight of her for a moment before both arms wrapped around her. He rolled onto his back, dragging her with him and they stopped with her straddling his chest. Then his broad hands were dragging her face downward, consuming her mouth with his own as those hands began wandering down her shoulders until they found the hem of her shirt and dove underneath.

 

She clutched at his broad shoulders as his fingers found her breasts, teasing and cupping them until her whole body felt afire. Somewhere between kisses Carina managed to breathe his name, making him growl and sending her squirming as the rumbling in his chest beneath her sent tremors through other sensitive areas. A moment later they flipped around again and he was on top, pressing her into the softness of the mattress.

 

When they finally slowed, both of them breathing hard, she realized that somewhere in between they’d both lost their shirts and the laces to his trousers had disappeared entirely. Blinking a few times up at him, Carina found herself laughing and reaching up to touch his cheek. “Is that a yes?”

 

“Unless you’ve been secretly a blood mage all this time,” answered Alistair with a smirk, “I _agreed_ to do this. So there’s nothing to forgive you for, Rina, because we’re both at fault here.” One broad hand then trailed along her side and his heated eyes caught hers as he started to move down the bed. As his fingers caught underneath the edge of her trousers, she hitched a breath and he chuckled against her skin as he bent to kiss her hip. “Besides…I’d do anything to keep my beautiful lady of the stone. Haven’t I proven that?”

 

Carina blushed because Rica had always been the beautiful one and she’d never thought of herself as anything compared to her sister. Then she’d met the man who was deliciously inching her trousers and smallclothes down her hips with that heat in his eyes and that smile that was all for her.

 

Smiling, she lifted her hips to help him and then crooked a finger as he tossed her clothing aside. Alistair crawled back up the bed towards her, pinning her body underneath his again as he kissed her and she wrapped her arms around his neck. Carina twined her fingers in the hair at the base of his skull and closed her eyes, silently blessing the Stone that she had been caught during the Proving and ended up in the Wardens. Without this man – this handsome, goofy, noble human who’d chosen all of her short, stubby, dwarva self over someone like Morrigan or Leliana – she didn’t think she would have ever been complete.

 

“That and more, Alistair,” she answered with a kiss on his cheek as his fingers traced over her brand again. “That and more.”

 

Then she smiled wickedly and reached down to tug at his trousers. Alistair complied to her silent order with an equally wicked grin and then they sank into each other, reaffirming their love and affection for each other for what could very well be the last time despite Morrigan’s ritual assuring their survival against the Archdemon.

 

They both knew all too well that the world could so easily flip out from under their feet and that they had to take what they could of their happiness while they had it.


	4. What is Gone and What is to Come

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Two years after the events of Together At Fault and Finding A Connection, Carina goes looking for Morrigan after rumors of her begin to surface.

“Dwarves were not meant for this mountain climbing nonsense,” grumbled Carina as she continued trudging up the incline they were on. Besides her Salroka let out a _whuff_ of agreement and then moved closer to allow her to sling her arm over his broad back. “Good dog,” she said as she gave him a firm pat. “Someone’s getting treats at dinner tonight.”

 

Behind, above, and to her left, Finn chuckled and quipped, “If you aren’t meant for mountain climbing, then why is Orzammar _in_ a mountain?”

 

By the _Stone_ , how was it that she managed, one way or another to get saddled with a comedian? First there was Alistair during the Blight, then Anders when her lover was in Weisshaupt, and now Finn. Did she have a sign above her head that said _male human comedians apply here to annoy duster dwarf_?

 

Carina then frowned at her own thoughts and cursed in Antivan. By the human’s flaming prophetess, she was picking up their sense of humor! She really needed more dwarves besides Oghren and Sigrun in the Warden ranks, else she might just start going mad.

 

“Orzammar,” she growled in response, “is in a mountain because some deshyr’s golden-bummed ancestors decided it should be. You have any _other_ stupid questions, like how dwarves are born?”

 

“I –“

 

At a muffled _thwump_ and a grunt from Finn, Carina glanced over her shoulder to see that Ariane had elbowed the mage in the ribs. _Hard_. Nodding at the elf, she turned her attention back to the steep incline that led upwards into the Dragonbone Wastes and sighed.

 

Maker, she wished she _had_ brought Alistair now. He’d have happily carried her. She knew him well though after just over two years together and more hardships than many couples faced in a lifetime. If she’d brought him to find Morrigan, it was likely that he would have demanded to see the child just once.

 

They had been happy since he’d come back from Weisshaupt but she’d caught him at times with a melancholy look of contemplation on his face. She’d also found him pouring over magic books in their library at odd hours as well as notes in the margins of the various maps that were stored in her office. Part of him wanted to find Morrigan and she’d always known it because he had told her once in the dark of their shared tent during the Blight that he never wanted to curse a child with the life he’d had as a bastard.

 

Every time she remembered that she’d made him break that vow, it was like a knife in her chest.

 

A wet nose poked into her ear then and Carina laughed before shoving Salroka’s broad head away, scratching his chin as she did. Then she heard the mocking laugh of a raven and jerked her head back so swiftly that her neck popped.

 

The bird wheeled overhead for a moment and she narrowed her eyes at it before it disappeared behind one of the cliffs ahead of them. Maybe it was Morrigan, maybe it wasn’t…but its appearance strengthened her resolve to get through the Wastes. “Come on!” she barked over her shoulder to Finn and Ariane as she began to climb faster, ignoring their somewhat confused mutterings at her sudden change.

 

Once they reached the area that led to where they’d fought the Mother, Carina started _running_. The further they went, the more she became convinced that they were going to miss the witch and she’d never see her friend again. Never know what happened to Alistair’s child. Everything blurred after that and she could barely recall the stunned shouts of her two companions as they chased her and her hound.

 

And then Morrigan was in front of her.

 

“No further, please,” said the witch with a pained expression as Carina stepped forward with her arms open in a hug. “One more step and I leave. For good, this time.”

 

The first emotion to burst through the sheer joy of seeing her friend – her _sister_ in all but blood – again was anguish that Morrigan had reverted to the emotionless woman she’d been when they’d met. Then anger rose, hot and hard, at the threat to leave before reality struck. She wasn’t emotionless and it wasn’t a threat.

 

Leaving was a promise. And she was pushing away because she _was_ leaving.

 

Carina swallowed hard then asked, “Aren’t we still friends, Morrigan?”

 

The witch flinched and closed her eyes for a moment before speaking in a shaky voice. “After all that I have done, I did not believe you would wish to claim me as such.”

 

“We were like _sisters_.”

 

“And did I not break that trust by bedding Alistair?”

 

“ _I sent him to you!_ ” shouted the dwarf. She realized her hands were shaking and clenched them, gnawed down fingernails digging into the leather covering her palms. Drawing in a deep breath, Carina reached for the calm she tried to maintain as Warden-Commander and said, “But you remember that, just as you remember the reasons why I talked him into it. This is merely you trying to push me away.”

 

A dark brow lifted and Morrigan nodded slightly before she spoke, “Indeed. You broke the promise you made to me, sister, to never seek me out.”

 

Carina shrugged at that. “It was either me or Alistair.”

 

“I see.”

 

The witch looked at the tall frame of the mirror behind her then smiled sadly down at the dwarf. “You may tell him that the child is safe and beyond the reach of those that would do him harm.”

 

“’Him’?” repeated Carina. The part of her brain that had gained practice in dealing with politics began to wail an alarm because that meant another male heir to the Theirin line. She ignored it, however, because she knew that Morrigan didn’t want that kind of power. With the soul bound to that child’s body, she had more than enough at hand.

 

“A male child,” confirmed Morrigan, “and much like him in appearance.” She then frowned and continued, “That is all I can tell you, sister, lest my plans become known to those who would use it against me.”

 

“I understand.”

 

Morrigan cast Carina a look that said _do you truly_ then said, “I can tell you this: Flemeth ‘tis alive. How I do not know but I do know that her plans were not what I thought they were.”

 

Carina merely gaped at her for a moment then asked, “What does that mean?”

 

“Change is coming to the world. Many fear change and will fight it with every fiber of their being but sometimes change is what they need most. Sometimes change is what sets them free.”

 

The dwarf furrowed her brow at that. “That is far too cryptic.”

 

“I am truly sorry, sister, that is the only answer I can give you.” Morrigan shrugged helplessly, spreading her hands wide. She then looked over her shoulder at the mirror and said, “I cannot tarry longer, Carina.”

 

The fact that the mage had actually used her name, something she had done rarely as she had begun with ‘Warden’ and gone straight to ‘sister’, told Carina everything she needed to know. Morrigan _had_ to go. Nodding, she found there was only one thing left to say.

 

“You know that if you need me, all you need do is find me.”

 

Morrigan smiled – a true, _honest_ smile – at that. “Goodbye, sister.”

 

As the witch disappeared through the mirror – _Eluvian_ , Carina corrected in her head, as the traveling mirrors had been one of Alistair’s many ideas of what sort of magical items Morrigan might have been after – Finn remarked, “Well…that was anti-climactic.”

 

He then paused and she _knew_ it was coming.

 

“Oh, and you let _her_ sleep with your –“

 

Ariane jabbed her elbow into his ribs again and as the mage flinched away, the elf asked, “Is that it?”

 

Carina nodded and leaned against Salroka as the mabari whined, staring at the spot where her friend had disappeared. She then straightened, put on what Alistair called her Commander Face, and turned to look at her two companions.

 

“Well then, let’s see if we can’t find that book of yours, Ariane.”

 

“And after that?” asked Finn as he straightened with one hand pressed against his side and a nervous glance at Ariane.

 

“We go home,” answered Carina simply. To herself she added, _And prepare for whatever is to come._


	5. The Art of Inadvertently Trying to Fix What's Broken

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alistair is sent to the Free Marches on a mission and not only takes Caver Hawke under his wing but also finds someone the woman he loves lost and dabbles in family dynamics.

Alistair shoved the Qunari warrior back with his shield, silently thanking all those bouts he’d sparred against Sten years before for giving him practice at it, and then hacked downward with his sword. The blade sliced through flesh and bone and the warrior went down with a shout dying in his throat, the axe in his hands dropping into dirt stained with blood. He wasn’t watching that opponent fall however, instead sweeping his eyes around the small courtyard he and his Wardens had found themselves in to check if there were any more Qunari.

 

Well, not _his_ Wardens, per say, as they were all Marcher based Wardens. They were under his command, though, as a Senior Warden and one of the few Ferelden Wardens that Rina had been able to spare.

 

Just the thought of her name made his heart ache for the months they’d been separated now but Alistair pushed it aside. Much as he might miss her, he had a rogue Warden to find and a job to complete.

 

“I think we’re clear,” piped up Keras, the only elf in their party. “It sounds like this group was the only one in the area.”

 

“Good,” said Alistair with a nod but he didn’t sheath his sword. Given how many Qunari or half-mad Kirkwallers they’d run into already, he wasn’t about to be caught without his blade out. Glancing around at the buildings, he then turned to look at the only Warden he had who was relatively familiar with Kirkwall. “Hawke! A word.”

 

Carver Hawke was almost instantly at his side and he couldn’t help but chuckle softly to himself. Upon their arrival at the Marcher compound, Alistair had had the surly young man pointed out to him as one of the worst Wardens their Commander had ever had under him. He’d taken one look, though, and seen a young man that he remembered well; one that wasn’t fond of his place in the world and who wanted out but was bearing up as best he could. Trapped as a templar initiate he’d felt much the same way…and then Duncan had saved him.

 

So he’d taken the young man under his wing as he’d done with plenty of the unsure young Wardens at the Vigil. The boy needed the same thing he had once upon a time – someone to _believe_ in him. And he made it a point to never openly call him ‘young’ or ‘boy’ despite thinking them of him in his head. Something that was awfully funny really considering he was only a few years older than the younger man but dealing with the Blight as well as the Vigil had made him a lot older mentally.

 

“Ser?” queried Carver’s voice and Alistair glanced at him before broaching his question.

 

“You lived here in Kirkwall before you came to the Wardens, correct?” Blue eyes stared at him for a moment then he received a slow nod in response. “Where are we at currently then?”

 

“Lowtown.” There was a pause then a heavy sigh as the younger man lifted his arm to point at a battered door up a set of stairs. “That’s my uncle’s house, in fact.”

 

The last sentence had an undertone that was all distaste and Alistair knew it well. He tasted it every time he was in Denerim and saw his supposed half-sister’s door even though he knew now there was no blood connection between them. Ignoring Carver’s tone, he asked, “Is there a way to get out of the city from here?”

 

As Carver opened his mouth to answer, another Warden – Thomas, Alistair recalled – piped up, “We’re just going to abandon the city, messere?”

 

“Finding a rogue Warden running away with a woman turning Broodmother is more important than saving a city,” he answered harshly in the tone he’d heard none too few in the Vigil refer to as his King’s voice. He hated the term but Carina had pointed out that if she had her Commander voice then he had to have his King voice. Turning, Alistair fixed Thomas with a stare and said, “One band of Qunari can be put down far easier than a Broodmother that’s nested herself. I’d rather be staying here to take on the Qunari, believe me.”

 

He focused on Carver again, one eyebrow arched slightly in expectation of the answer he’d requested. The young man nodded and said, “We’ll have to go into Darktown. There are some passages that will let us out into the Marches there.”

 

Alistair nodded and started to gesture at him to lead on then whirled, snapping his shield up over his and Carver’s faces in time to block the descent of an arrow. “Wardens!” he bellowed out as an elf thumped down from above onto the closest set of stairs. Someone cried out in pain behind him after another arrow whistled down and he snarled before charging up the stairs at the elf.

 

Her eyes flew wide as he brought his shield down from protecting his and Carver’s heads in a blow that slammed into her unprotected throat. She choked, her windpipe crushed, and collapsed as another elf descended from above with a crossbow in his hands. Alistair sidestepped and in a practiced move Carver slide forward, bringing the ridiculous meat clever he called a sword down in a blow that took out the crossbow and split the elf’s head like an overripe melon.

 

Spinning together away from the dead elf, they pounded back down the stairs and into the fight in the courtyard. Alistair lost sense of everything in the blur of exchanged blows until magic washed against his senses and he came back to reality like a man gasping for air after nearly drowning. The pause almost cost him his life as a sword thrust past his shield but a bolt of lightning sizzled past him to fry the elf holding it. He stumbled back a step, practically tasting the magic on the back of his tongue and feeling his hair frizz from the static, then saw that his opponent had been the last.

 

Alistair glanced over his group, seeing that Keras had taken an arrow to the arm but no one else was seriously injured, then turned to face their aid. He had to blink for a moment as he saw familiar features looking at him from the man heading the small group and turned to find Carver next to him with a grim look on his face.

 

“Nicolas,” said the younger Hawke shortly.

 

“Carver,” answered the elder just as shortly. He then smiled at Alistair and said, “Sorry about the lightning getting so close.”

 

Alistair waved it off, saying, “You saved my life. I’ve learned enough in my life to not be picky about how people do it. Been saved enough in bad ways to know I can’t be.” Nicolas Hawke looked amused at that answer then lost the expression when the stern-faced woman behind him in the armor of the Kirkwall Guard made a noise.

 

The elder Hawke glanced over his shoulder and said quietly, “Give me a few minutes to talk to my brother, Aveline.”

 

“The city doesn’t _have_ minutes, Hawke.”

 

“Okay, then give Anders a few minutes to heal the Wardens’ wounded.”

 

The Guardswoman huffed at that and stalked away across the courtyard followed by a grumpy looking elf in black, leaving Nicolas shaking his head. At the name ‘Anders’, Alistair focused on the blond-haired mage left standing with him and wondered if this was Rina’s Anders. There could only be so many blond mages named Anders in Thedas, right?

 

Anders looked after the other two and asked, “You’re sure about this?”

 

“They’ve got wounded,” answered Nicolas sternly. His tone then softened as he said, “I need to talk to Carver, Anders. Please.”

 

The mage nodded and moved forward as Carver growled, “What if _I_ don’t want to talk to you?”

 

“Carver – ”

 

“No, Nic – ”

 

“Carver, talk to him,” interjected Alistair, sensing that the arguing between the two brothers could get as heated as conversations between Morrigan and Wynne had been. When the young man looked at him in betrayal, he added, “Don’t make me make it an order. Talk to your brother while our wounded get healed.”

 

He turned away from the Hawke brothers then and watched the mage that was fussing over his wounded. The magic rippled gently along his senses the way all healing magic did but there was something…other…about it. Perhaps the Fade spirit Justice Rina suspected he’d bonded with was the cause of that? Wynne’s spirit had never been visible to his senses except when she’d been using it to enhance herself but that was a rare occasion that exhausted the elderly mage. If Anders was constantly using the spirit –

 

Alistair shook his head, not wanting to go down that road. His own interest in the arcane had had him looking into Fade spirits once they’d had their own library, concern for the grandmotherly mage driving him. Nothing that he’d found was anything particularly pleasant when dealing with a spirit in the real world.

 

He waited until the mage was done healing Keras’ arm then grabbed him, hauling him to the side. There was a flare of blue-white light in brown eyes as fire crackled around clenched fingers and Alistair loosed just enough of a cleansing to clear the air of magic but not rob the mage of it. Anders’ eyes narrowed and he growled, “You aren’t the first former templar Warden that I’ve met.”

 

“Actually I’m probably the first former not-quite templar Warden you’ve ever met,” he snapped back. He then released the mage’s arm and said, “I’m also your former Commander’s second.”

 

Brown eyes went wide at that and the heavy pulse of magic that had begun to weigh against Alistair’s senses disappeared. “Carina?” breathed Anders, shaking his head as if he didn’t believe it. “I – she didn’t send you after me, did she?”

 

Part of Alistair wanted to laugh at that but he couldn’t. He knew all too well how guilty Rina felt about leaving this mage alone with the templar she’d been forced to take in. Instead he answered, “The Wardens aren’t a prison, remember?”

 

“Tell that to Rolan,” snarled the mage with pure venom, his eyes flaring blue-white again as cracks rippled across his skin. Quick as they appeared they vanished and, breathing hard, he asked in a quiet voice, “Does she want me back?”

 

There was some lost little boy in that desperate voice and Alistair answered honestly. “Were it possible for you to come back, she would welcome you with open arms.”

 

“But it’s not possible.”

 

“You killed fourteen Wardens and seven templars. The Grand Cleric has been demanding your head every year since on the day it happened and Anora would give you to her.” He paused, licking his lips, then finished, “Rina would protect you with her life, you know that, and the Wardens would probably be banished from Ferelden again. After the Blight that can’t be risked, no matter how much she might want you back at the Vigil.”

 

Anders looked away, blinking several times before letting out a harsh breath. Then he frowned and asked, “If you’re not here for me, then what _are_ you here for?”

 

Alistair smiled and clapped the mage’s feathered shoulder as he said, “Warden business.”

 

“Secrets and death. I remember how it goes.” Anders then smiled and pulled something from under the neck of his clothes, extending it toward Alistair. He had been a Warden long enough that he could sense the corrupted blood in the pendant and knew what it was. “Here. For Carina’s memorial wall. Anders…the Anders she knew isn’t really here anymore.”

 

“Keep it.”

 

The mage blinked and Alistair shrugged. “She still considers you one of _hers_ , Anders. Always will.”

 

Something haunted showed in the brown eyes watching him and Anders asked, “Even if I did something terrible?”

 

“Especially then. Rina takes her responsibilities seriously.”

 

That didn’t seem to comfort the mage but he chuckled. “She’s a one of a kind woman,” he said then looked hard at Alistair. “Take care of her.”

 

“Thank _you_ for doing it for me once upon a time,” answered Alistair. He then turned his attention to Carver as the young man approached and asked, “All done?”

 

Blue eyes fixed him with a look as haunted as has been in the mage’s brown a moment before then he shook it off. Nodding, Carver answered, “Ready, ser.” He then looked at his brother as Nicolas stepped up next to him and said, “Nicolas,” but there was no harshness in his voice this time.

 

“Carver,” said the mage back, his eyes flashing an apology of some kind. He then looked at Alistair then at Anders before saying, “Well then…if you’ll excuse us, Wardens, we seem to have a city to save. Unless you’d like to lend us a hand?”

 

Alistair started to open his mouth but Anders beat him to it, slinging an arm around the elder Hawke’s shoulders, the pendant around his neck bouncing slightly with the motion.

 

“You know Wardens,” intoned the mage airily, “always gallivanting off to save the whole of Thedas. I should know, I was one!”

 

Nicolas chuckled and clapped the other mage on the back in a brotherly fashion. “Saving Thedas,” he repeated, “probably an easier task than saving this city. Well, c’mon then, Anders, we’ve still got an Arishok to deal with.” He moved away from the Wardens then, to where the elf and woman waited at the edge of the little courtyard.

 

Anders looked at Alistair one last time, nodded, then jogged after the elder Hawke. The Wardens watched the group as they walked away, off to try and save a city being assaulted from within, and Thomas sighed.

 

“We really should help them, messere,” he murmured.

 

Alistair tore his eyes away from the group then and clapped a hand on Carver’s shoulder as he said, “I think the Qunari will have more than enough in store for them with that group fighting on the lines. Now let’s go find this tunnel in Darktown. We’ve got to save the whole of Thedas, remember?”


	6. It All Comes Tumbling Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It began as a wonderful day for Carina Brosca. Then her two Wardens that had gone off to Kirkwall returned with a surprise guest in tow and news that brings her world crashing down.

“Rise and shine, recruits! It’s a beautiful morning for training!”

 

Carina Brosca smiled as she lifted the cup of hot tea to her lips, able to hear the groans drifting up from the Warden recruit barracks a few floors below her balcony. She was certain they and every batch before them would agree with Oghren’s statement that her lover was mad to have them all up at the ass-crack of dawn.

 

Alistair had a _reason_ to be overly exuberant in his training though. Now, six years past the defeat of the Architect and the Mother, the Wardens had the numbers that Duncan had always wanted but had never been able to achieve. The Vigil was packed full of Wardens, which had forced them to start the task of readying Soldier’s Peak for being inhabited again. And with their number of recruits and Wardens, they had the opportunity to properly test them and cull the numbers before the Joining. Better to discover in training that one of their recruits was likely to go crazy or do something foolish than after they had drunk from the chalice.

 

Like Anders.

 

She sat her cup down on the wall surrounding her balcony at the thought of the apostate mage she’d stumbled across the day of her bloody arrival at the Keep. He had been a comfort during the months she’d known him as Alistair had been in Weisshaupt trying to explain how they’d survived without mentioning Morrigan (which consisted of a lot of nodding and looking stupid as he put it later). With his similar appearance and timbre of voice that matched her lover’s and vein of flirting that reminded her of Zevran, she’d felt like she had had both of them back with him by her side.

 

Then, after the darkspawn were dead and the Vigil in the process of rebuilding, she’d taken Oghren as well as two of their latest recruits to go on her first official recruitment trip around Ferelden. Only when she’d returned months later to find her Wardens harried and lost looking as well as the sight of over a dozen new pendants hanging on the wall that had become reserved for their dead in the main hall. An even more somber than usual Nathaniel had then informed her that Anders had disappeared after he’d killed – _killed_ – several fellow Wardens, including the templar they’d been forced to take in by a mix of Anora and the Chantry. Kristoff’s body had been found not far from the site of the massacre days later and the rapid decomposition showed Justice had been gone for some time.

 

Having been witness to the closeness of the mage and spirit as well as recalling the spirit that was still keeping Wynne alive, she’d had a sickening suspicion as to what they’d done. Her thoughts then – and still – were that if only she had been there and not gallivanting around Ferelden, she could have stopped him. Could have pointed out that he had too much anger in him to not avoid corrupting the spirit into something closer to a demon. Could have…oh, there were so many _could haves_ and _should haves_.

 

Careful messages sent out to her neighboring Warden-Commanders in Orlais and the Free Marches had revealed that he was in the city of Kirkwall. A bit of pressing inquiry on the Commander there had gotten her the information that he was running a free clinic in the area under the city called Darktown, helping refugees and the poor. While that warmed her heart to know he was helping, there were darker rumors about him that had been sent on with that news. He was still one of _her_ Wardens in her heart and she felt responsible for him.

 

She also felt like she had failed him.

 

Three years ago, Alistair had told him just that when he’d run into the mage in Kirkwall. Part of her wished that she had been there but she would have insisted on dragging Anders back to Ferelden, intent on having him _home_. She knew though – better than anyone thanks to Anora and the Grand Cleric’s yearly reminders – that he could never come back to the Vigil to stay.

 

Sighing, Carina stepped up onto a footstool positioned in front of one of the two chairs always positioned out on the balcony. Alistair had once suggested getting her a ‘proper’ chair more suitable to her height and she’d offered to cut him down to her size so they could keep matching chairs. He’d laughed merrily at that – having long ago grown accustomed to her threats – and had spent the next few hours reminding her why she’d fallen in love with him.

 

Seating herself, she picked up her cup and looked over the balcony as their latest recruits stumbled sleepily into the training yard. Some were still buckling on armor and one of the mages was still in his smallclothes, robes hastily gathered in his arms. The sight brought a lump into her throat, recalling Anders’ total lack of propriety.

 

Then every sad thought vanished at the tall form striding along behind their raw recruits, reddish-blond hair standing out from the dragonbone splintmail he wore. From where they were now, she couldn’t make out the exact words but the boisterous grin on Alistair’s face told her that he was informing them of how ‘fun’ their lessons were going to be. And she _could_ clearly hear the recruits groan in unison.

 

Looking down at him now from her vantage point over the Vigil, Carina was once again filled with pride in her ‘prince’. He absolutely _loathed_ the title and anyone that came calling at the Vigil asking for the ‘prince’ was turned away immediately. The callings had become more frequent in the last few years as Anora still hadn’t remarried and Arl Eamon had written several times insisting that Alistair do his duty for the kingdom. She had watched every one of those letters burn from where she curled up in her lover’s lap, his strong arms wrapped around her and his jaw tense with anger. When the last one had come a year ago, he had finally written back with three sentences: _if you want a child of Theirin blood on the throne, it will be Carina’s or no one else’s. If you wish me to do otherwise, then let it be known that breeding a new King for you isn’t my duty. I am a Grey Warden, not a King, and I will do my duty to them and the woman I love before all else, Eamon._

 

From the letter Bann Teagan had sent them after that one had arrived in Redcliffe, the Arl had turned a marvelous shade of purple. Teagan had also promised to stop any more letters from coming to them before either of them saw the need to personally make a visit. Carina had warmly written back saying that she could kiss him for keeping them from any more of Eamon’s pestering and had laughed when Alistair had grabbed the piece of vellum to add that a kiss was all his almost uncle was going to get from his lady.

 

So ‘prince’ Alistair may have hated being called but she thought of him that way in her own mind. She never called him that, of course, not even in the confines of their room because she knew better than anyone that he didn’t want to claim his blood right to the throne. She had never dreamed of being a noble hunter and rising above her caste in Orzammar – never _wanted_ to after watching what Rica went through – but she’d always dreamed of it happening by accident. There had been a story Rica had told her when she was small, about a dwarven prince who found love with a casteless warrior and made her his wife, that she had always loved. The dwarf had never become King since he was the second son but he had loved his wife and Carina had been in love with the idea of someone saving her from the dark for a long time. Even when she and Leske had done things she’d hated, things that had stained her hands forever, she had held on to the sliver of hope that someone would save her.

 

Alistair had done just that from the moment they’d met with his brand of humor and whatever had told him there was something more behind the masks she had carried with her out of Dust Town.

 

Laughing a little at herself, Carina finished her tea and watched the recruits for a moment before she slid down from her chair. As she tugged her leathers on and settled a dagger at either hip, there was a sudden cheer from outside. Rushing back to the balcony, she peered over the edge to see a pair of dark haired men and several others striding in through the gate, Alistair moving to greet them with a wide grin. As soon as he noticed some of his recruits were trying to escape, he waved them on and began barking orders that had them come sprinting back without hesitation.

 

Oh, yes, he would have made a good King but no matter how noble her heart could be, she was still a duster. That made her _selfish_ and on what would have been their last night together with his large body curled protectively around hers, she’d made the split second decision to keep him. He was the best thing that had come into her miserable life and she’d said just that when he’d fallen to his knees as soon as everything was done at the Landsmeet and asked _why_. Alistair had thanked her many times that night with his hands and lips, making her certain that she had made the right choice.

 

Even later, that decision with Morrigan, to ask him to do _that_ with her _friend_ , her _sister_ …that had been because she was selfish too.

 

Carina shook herself from the memory and turned away from the balcony to leave the room. She knew every shortcut through the Vigil by now so, despite her shorter stature, she still ended up beating Nathaniel Howe, Carver Hawke, and the other Wardens in their party to the main hall. “Commander,” greeted the young man and she noticed that his blue eyes were shadowed by something other than exhaustion. A glance at Nathaniel showed the same in his and she knew something was wrong.

 

Then she looked behind them and there, amongst her Wardens, was a certain blond elf. “Zevran!” she exclaimed and when she earned only a tired smile instead of the over-the-top exclamation she’d expected, her breath caught in her throat.

 

For something to _stop_ Zevran from flirting…

 

“You all go eat in the kitchens,” she ordered the other Wardens and then crooked a finger at the trio. “You three. My office. Now.”

 

Technically the breakfast waiting in her office and hers and Alistair’s but he’d have grabbed something from the kitchens since it was a first training day. After seeing the exhausted group arrive, he wouldn’t mind giving up his food despite whatever token complaints he might make later.

 

Her Wardens dug in with the fierce gusto of a recruit fresh from the Joining and the assassin wasn’t far behind them. Carina managed to pluck a biscuit and a few slices of bacon from a plate for herself and munched on them quietly as she regarded the three men in front of her.

 

Nathaniel looked even more somber than ever, which was a feat for the Howe. Given that his sister Delilah, her merchant husband, and his nephew had gone to Kirkwall with the expedition to help settle a deal for Amaranthine that would, in turn, help the Vigil, she’d have expected him to be less so.

 

There was something haunted hanging around Carver Hawke and she had the sickening feeling that whatever had happened involved his brother, Nicolas. The look in his blue eyes was an expression of loss she found all too familiar. She could remember seeing it in the mirror after she’d had to kill Leske, in Zevran’s when he’d revealed the sordid tale of being tricked into killing his lover, and in Alistair’s when she’d come back after seeking Morrigan to tell him nothing more than that he had a son and he was safe.

 

As Carina shifted her gaze to Zevran, she found the assassin looking at her. It had been a long time since she’d seen her friend and he looked a lot leaner, with harsher angles to his face, than he had years before. What sent a jolt of terror lancing down her spine was that he wasn’t _hiding_. He was watching her with his defenses open, letting her see his confusion and trauma from whatever had went on in Kirkwall.

 

Tearing her attention away from the elf, she focused on the more senior of her two Wardens.

 

“Nathaniel. What happened?”

 

He frowned for a long moment then answered, “We found the thaig easily enough. Carver remembered the way quite well considering how long it’s been since he was down there.”

 

Blue eyes darted up and Carina forced herself not to flinch at the emotion in them. She _knew_ that emotion even after the long years away from Orzammar and Dust Town. That was knowing you’ve escaped death once only to stumble into another and part of her wanted to hug the young man.

 

Instead she focused back on Nathaniel and pressed, “And?”

 

“I got separated from the others. Thought I was going to go to my Calling early and then here comes this mad-cap group around a corner.” He turned his head towards Carver and the young Warden shook his head without looking up. Nathaniel nodded and continued, “The man leading them introduced himself as Hawke only but I’d already guessed who he was as Anders was with him.”

 

Her senior Warden shook his head then met her gaze across the desk. “He recognized me but he seemed…distracted. Looked like he had been through that nightmare with the Architect again only with much less sleep than we got getting out of that mine.”

 

Carina bowed her head at that, her fingers clenching into fists. “You think the rumors of his madness are true.”

 

It wasn’t really a question and Nathaniel knew it. He simply leaned back in his chair as Carver lifted his head, haunted blue eyes seeming to look somewhere beyond her.

 

“We know they are now,” he rasped. “News probably hasn’t come yet from Kirkwall.”

 

“News?” repeated Carina, looking between the three of them. “What news?” When none of them answered, she leaned forward and slapped a hand down on her desk. “I’m the commander of two of you and good friend to the other. Tell me!”

 

Zevran shifted in his chair, rolling his shoulders with that languid grace of his, and answered, “Your wayward soul destroyed a Chantry, _mí amiga_.”

 

For a moment she wasn’t certain than she had heard correctly and blinked at him. When he leaned forward and laid his hand over hers with a sad smile on his face, Carina sank back into her chair.

 

“A _Chantry_ ,” she repeated. Then she bowed her head and covered her eyes with one hand as she muttered, “Oh, _Anders_. Why would you do that? Why would Justice convince you to do that?”

 

“Freedom for mages,” came Carver’s voice and she lowered her hand to find him looking at her now. “That was his excuse because the Grand Cleric wouldn’t take a side between the templars and the mages.”

 

He bared his teeth then and a wild look came into his eyes as he growled, “And Nicolas let him live. After all he did, all the blood that was shed, Nicolas let him _live_. The templars killed nearly every mage in the Gallows, Commander, because of what Anders did and my brother just let him walk away!”

 

“He won’t walk away,” said Carina, her eyes focused on the ceiling as she recalled all the terrible decisions she’d made in her life. “Not from himself. You can’t ever get away from yourself, Carver. You always – _always_ – remember what you’ve done.”

 

“Rina,” breathed Zevran and she focused on her friend, forcing a smile.

 

“You know all too well that I’ve made terrible decisions, Zev. What else happened?”

 

“The Knight-Commander as well as the First Enchanter went mad,” answered Nathaniel. “We were there for the last but only heard about Orsino. He apparently used blood magic and turned himself into a monstrosity down in the depths of the Gallows.”

 

Carver cut in then, saying, “Meredith had the idol from the thaig and forged a sword with it. It…it made her powerful. She brought the Gallows statues to life with it before she turned into one herself.”

 

Carina just blinked at that, wondering how exactly the lyrium idol the younger Warden had nearly died for had done _that_ , but shoved it aside. Finding out what had happened to her former Warden and after the battle was more important.

 

“What about after the battle?”

 

The three of them looked at each other then Carver growled, “They left.”

 

“Just like that?” asked Carina, looking to Nathaniel and Zevran for confirmation. At their nods, she continued, “Without supplies or anything? All of your brother’s companions?”

 

“Aveline stayed,” answered the young man. “She married one of the Guardsmen and she’s Captain. Said without anyone else to lead the city, she said she needed to stay, to keep order. I think Varric and Fenris may have stayed too.”

 

He shrugged one shoulder and continued, “Everyone else left with Nicolas. He barely even said goodbye or _thanks for helping save our asses_ before he was off.”

 

Carina sighed heavily, pinching the bridge of her nose, then said, “That’s enough for now. Go get some sleep or, if you can’t, go bother Finn for one of his knockout potions. You all look fit to collapse and I’m not picking anyone up off my floor.” Looking at Zevran, she added, “We don’t have any spare rooms at the moment but there’s a cot set up behind that curtain that you can bunk on.”

 

She gestured at the heavy, Warden blue fabric hanging behind them and the elf nodded, silently making his way over and disappearing behind the curtain without another word. As she leaned back and laced her fingers across her belly, Nathaniel and Carver rose to leave but the younger man paused in the door, looking back at her uncertainly.

 

“He asked me to come with him,” he blurted suddenly and she arched her eyebrows in silent question. “Nicolas. Said he wanted to maybe try being brothers again.”

 

Carina waited for the span of a heartbeat then said, “You told him no.”

 

Carver smiled bitterly and nodded. “Too little, too late, more like it. I’m a Warden now…he _made_ me a Warden.”

 

“I would have understood if you’d gone, Carver.”

 

“I know,” he said as he turned to go, “but I wouldn’t have forgiven myself for leaving the only home I’d got left. _Atrast tunsha_ , Commander.”

 

“ _Atrast tunsha_.” Carina waited until the door had closed then she called out, “Zev?”

 

“I am still awake, _mí amiga_ ,” came the elf’s disembodied voice from the behind the curtain, low enough for her to know that while the other two were leaving, he had gotten out of his gear and collapsed. Or merely collapsed, who knew.

 

“How long do you think we have, before the repercussions hit us from what happened in Kirkwall?”

 

There was a long paused then Zevran answered, “Months. Perhaps a year if we are lucky. You believe the Circle will revolt despite what the Queen has done.”

 

“Anora isn’t as favorable to mages as Alistair or I am.” Carina didn’t mention that Alistair had gotten a lot more favorable towards them when he’d found out his actual birth mother was one whilst in Weisshaupt. “Finn keeps in touch with people he knew in the Tower still so we hear about what’s happening. It isn’t enough change to keep them from revolting when that news hits.”

 

Dropping her head into her hands, she continued, “Damnit, Zev, what happened to my Warden? What happened to my friend?”

 

Warm, bare arms wrapped around her and she leaned towards him, tucking her head underneath his chin, not even bothered by his silent appearance next to her chair.

 

“He has made his choices, Rina, and now he must deal with them on his own or with those who will take him. You need to worry about your Wardens.”

 

“And you?” asked Carina with a slight smile.

 

“There is no need to worry about me, _mí amiga._ I am the best, remember?” As she prodded him in the ribs, Zevran swiped her hand away and added, “Take care of your Wardens, yourself, and that silly templar of yours. I will be where I always am, watching your back.”

 

“How do you always know what to say to make me feel better?”

 

“It is nothing but a part of my charm. Is it working? Would you care to join me behind your luxurious curtain?”

 

The flirt didn’t have the usual spark behind it but it still made Carina laugh. She pulled herself out of his arms and hugged his neck since, on his knees next to her chair it was at the perfect height. “You know better,” she murmured as she pulled away. “And you need sleep more than sex. That was a terrible effort at flirting.”

 

Zevran shrugged, flashing a shadow of his usual smile, then grasped her hand to press a kiss against her fingers. “I cannot help but try until you say yes, _bella_.”

 

“Zev. Sleep.”

 

“As the lady commands,” he whispered as he bowed slightly. She watched him as he rose fluidly and disappeared behind the curtain again. Waiting until he had settled onto the cot and she heard him honestly _sleeping_ , not just pretending to, she crept out of her office and locked the door behind her.

 

Alistair found her hours later on the top-most tower of the Vigil after he’d finished with the recruits training and used his status as Second to grab one of the first baths. Dressed in one of his shirts and pants only, she sat with her feet dangling off the edge of the tower and as he slid in behind her, he commented, “You should be more careful.”

 

Carina merely hummed as he pulled her back against his chest and wrapped his arms around her. Leaning her head back against his shoulder as he bent over her, she asked, “Is the rumor mill running?”

 

“You mean do I know what Anders did? Yes. I told the recruits and staff to keep it to themselves because he was a Warden, which makes it Warden business until we say otherwise.”

 

“Thank you.”

 

She started stroking his arm and he twisted his hand to capture hers, bringing it up to his lips. “Rina,” he breathed, “what happened wasn’t your fault.”

 

“I recruited him, Alistair. If I’d known…”

 

“You would have recruited him anyway to keep him from whatever those templars were going to do to him,” interrupted Alistair in a stern voice. She couldn’t argue against that because she would do it again in a heartbeat just to see the pissed off look on that woman’s face. Oh, and Anora’s look of annoyance.

 

Looking out towards the lands surrounding the Vigil, Carina said, “Part of me hopes he comes here for help.”

 

“Carver might just kill him. He’s…two mage siblings makes him sympathetic to mages even if he doesn’t show it much. Anders forcing the issue, letting all those mages get killed, has him in a bad way.”

 

“He came and talked to you,” she noted and he nodded before pressing a kiss against her temple. “He’s conflicted about his brother. I think he thinks he agrees with what Anders did.”

 

Alistair shrugged and said, “Part of me agrees with the freedom bit after what I’ve seen mages and read about mages going through. Anders’ needs a bit more subtlety in his methods though. I’ve been suspecting it has something to do with Justice and the city since I heard about it. Kirkwall…there was something wrong with it. You could feel it, taste it in the air.”

 

“Whatever it was, it doesn’t matter now.” Carina shook her head and closed her eyes, savoring the soothing presence of his body behind hers. “The Chantry will want him dead now instead of whatever they wanted to do before. And I can’t protect him from that.”

 

“You never could, love,” breathed Alistair and the tears she’d been holding back since hearing what her friend had done spilled down her cheeks. He wrapped his arms tightly around her and rested his chin on top of her head, there for her as she cried for the man she could no longer save.

 


End file.
